Journey's End
by omasuoniwabanshi
Summary: A chance meeting on the road leads Seta Soujiro to wonder if he's really changed since Kenshin spared his life and set him on a new path. Complete. Please Read and Review!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin characters or plot.

CHAPTER ONE

The cloud of dust was thinning, its last vestiges sinking languidly earthward in the late afternoon sun.

It had been dry for the past two days, but Seta knew that the rainy season was coming. It was amazing the good weather had lasted as long as it had.

He'd been traveling quite a while now, wandering the hills and back roads of Japan. He'd just come to the end of a mountain track which dead-ended into a larger cart trail. A group of horsemen must have gone by a few minutes ago, judging by the amount of dust they'd kicked up. Mere travelers on foot couldn't have raised a cloud that big.

Seta stood by a boulder and looked up and down the road in front of him. Which direction should he wander? He had no immediate destination, no master to answer to anymore now that Shishio was gone.

It was freeing.

It was unnerving.

He really didn't like wandering.

How had Kenshin stood it all those years? Seta was beginning to realize that without a purpose he felt lost. There was irony for you. How could you be lost when you had nowhere to go?

At least he'd been able to find odd jobs relatively easily. His constant smile reassured people. They didn't know it was a mask he placed on his face to fit in. Most people took a smile and a polite word literally at face value.

The sun was beginning to drift closer to the mountains, its ball-like shape red behind the thin veil of clouds soon to be tinted orange and pink with the sun's dying rays. Within two or three hours it would be dark.

The dust cloud settled. Suddenly Seta realized he didn't feel like the noisy, boisterous companionship of a crowd. He stepped into the road and set off to his right, away from the direction the horsemen had taken.

As he trudged down the road, his sandals making little puffs of dust as he walked, he allowed a smile to play about his features. It was, after all, second nature.

He lifted his chin at the sound of a pair of horses coming slowly toward him, and saw them, their figures, and those of their riders, outlined by the dust trail they raised. One of the horses was limping.

Seta drew to the side of the road to let them pass.

Two men rode alongside each other. They had the hard, cold eyes of warriors. Both were in their late twenties or early thirties. One was tall and thin, the other short and stocky. Like Seta, they flouted the anti-sword laws and wore katanas at their sides.

The taller man, noticing Seta, pulled back on his reins, causing his lame horse to blow air out of flared nostrils in a huff of pain. His companion glanced sharply at him and whispered something.

Seta watched and waited patiently for them to ride by.

After a quick whispered conversation, the shorter man handed his reins to the taller one and got off his horse.

Seta braced himself. Honest, law-abiding citizens did not wear swords anymore. Nor did they ride horses so hard that the sweat matted their hair, or keep riding them even though one of their legs had gone lame.

The man was solid looking as well as short, and he had a twisted scar on his forehead.

"You there, boy." His voice was unattractive as well, Seta noticed. It was harsh, and raspy as though he'd inhaled most of the road's dust and it had irritated his throat.

"Yes?"

Seta allowed the man to get close and noticed without seeming to that the taller man was urging the horses forward and apart in such a way as to block the road.

"Which way to the shrine?"

The question wasn't a serious one. It was a way to distract Seta so that the man could get close enough to strike. So Seta merely smiled and shrugged his ignorance.

With a sigh of steel against wood, the stocky man unsheathed his sword.

Calmly, Seta allowed him to step closer.

"What is it that you want?" he asked.

The man's eyes narrowed, obviously perplexed at Seta's lack of fear. "Your money."

"Why?" he responded cheerfully.

The scar crinkled on the man's forehead as his face twisted into a suspicious grimace, but before he could answer, the other man on the horse spoke.

"For a new horse." The man growled disgustedly as the animal shifted its weight and lifted the injured hoof off the ground to rest it. His gaze sharpened on his friend. "Finish this already."

"I have no money." Seta shrugged. "Well, not enough to buy a horse." The small roll of coins hidden in his sleeve would buy him two, maybe three nights lodging and a couple of meals at an inn, but nothing beyond that.

"We'll just see about that," muttered the scar-faced man as he lunged forward.

It was child's play to move out of the bandit's way. Seta hadn't mastered the Tenbu no Sai Niyoru Ken style for nothing. He didn't even need to utilize the Shukuchi technique to get away. He was simply in front of the bandit, and then he was not.

"Over here." Seta called, having landed on a grassy area to the man's left.

Bellowing, the man whipped around, swinging his sword horizontally, but when the blade crossed the grass, Seta was already across the road.

The man pivoted relatively quickly and thrust as he ran, holding his blade parallel to the ground. Seta allowed him to get within a second of his goal, then stepped aside and around him, with movements as fluid as water. He ended back across the road as his opponent swung his head back and forth looking for him in the wrong place.

The taller man cursed and dug his heels into his horse's side, forcing the beast forward as he dropped the other animal's reins and pulled his katana from its sheath.

It was time. Seta drew his sword.

The horseman sliced downward, his blade engaging Seta's. Seta let his enemy's weapon slide off his own by slanting his katana downward. The horseman nearly overbalanced and had to pull back. Seta let the horse to pass him, then turned and smacked it on its haunches with the flat of his blade.

Though the sharp edge didn't touch the animal, it reacted, rearing and dumping its rider into the dust before limping to the side of the road. The other horse backed away and halted, raising yet another flurry of dust at its feet.

Meanwhile, the shorter man came charging across the road. Each time Seta escaped him, his anger had increased. Now he was like a raging bull, all power and instinct.

Again Seta allowed another blade to touch his, twisting as the blades engaged, enveloping the other's by slanting then shifting so that the blunt edge of his blade came down across the man's sword so hard that it was wrenched out of his grip.

It was the perfect opportunity for a horizontal return slice between the ribs and through the man's heart.

In the old days, when he'd been employed by Shishio, he wouldn't have thought twice about it. The strong lived, the weak died. It was Shishio's mantra. It was the philosophy Seta had lived by since he was old enough to pick up a sword, but now he had to find his own way.

The old life, the old ways, were no longer enough.

He reversed his grip and brought the hilt end up sharply, connecting with the man's chin with an audible crack.

Scarface fell back onto the grass, out cold.

That left his other opponent.

The tall man was on his feet. His hands were still holding his blade, its tip now pointed upwards, by his cheek. He stood with his elbows lifted, his weight distributed evenly on each foot, knees bent.

It was a traditional stance, good for striking, but it was only effective if your opponent was in front of you.

Seta quickly moved to the man's back, swinging his own blade over the man's bicep, the sharp hassaki edge ending at his throat.

"I believe you should stop now," he suggested politely.

Standing so close, Seta could smell the man's sweat, and actually see a drop of it sliding down his face.

At times like these it was difficult to see what was so attractive about the weak that Kenshin, wanted to protect them.

He pressed his blade more firmly against the man's neck. "Of course, it's up to you. I wouldn't want you to think I was telling you what to do." he said politely.

The man swallowed, and Seta allowed his blade to rise and fall with the man's throat muscles so that he didn't cut him.

The tall one thought for a minute, and then dropped his katana, which fell to the road, raising its own small cloud of dust.

In an instant Seta had retreated across the side of the road and sheathed his blade. Since he hadn't drawn blood, there was no reason to wipe it.

He smiled. "I believe your friends are waiting for you." He nodded to his left, in the direction of the initial dust cloud.

The hatred in the tall man's eyes faded for a moment as he instinctively glanced up the road past Seta, confirming Seta's guess that these two were a part of the group of horsemen who'd passed by right before he'd started walking the opposite way down the road.

There was another flare of anger in the tall man's face as he realized what he'd inadvertently revealed, but he left his sword in the dirt and without a word, and went to get the horses.

"Do please take your companion with you." Seta offered in a friendly voice.

The man, reaching for the lame horse's reins, stiffened, but dropped his outstretched hand, strode over to the unconscious bandit, dragged him by his shoulders to the horse, and hefted him across the saddle of the horse he'd rode in on.

Seta noticed with interest that he didn't seem too concerned about his friend's comfort, lifting the prone swordsman by the obi at his waist and the gi at the back of his neck, almost as if he were a sack of sweet potatoes.

The man turned and glared at Seta. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."

"Nor do I wish to." He smiled to take the sting out of the words. "Please, take your swords." Seta gestured to the two katanas lying in the dirt.

The man's face tightened, but he obeyed, striding over to pick them up and thrust one in his own sheath and the other in the sheath still sticking out of the unconscious man's obi.

Then he grabbed the lame horse's reins and mounted the other animal, swinging up behind the scarred man's body.

"You'll regret this," he spat, trying to bore holes through Seta with his eyes.

Seta kept his smile in place, and watched as the man dug his heels in the horse's sides and took off down the road, dragging the lame horse along behind him.

Turning once again to his right, Seta took the opposite direction and began walking. The sun had dipped a bit closer to the mountains. He hoped that there was a village or at least a farmhouse up ahead. Though judging by the two characters he'd encountered, he wouldn't be surprised to find villagers and farmers slaughtered and their valuables stolen.

He trudged onward, following the dusty cart track as it wound its way up and over a tree spotted hill.

Two hills later and another cloud of dust, this one accompanied by pounding hoof beats, came near.

It was a boy, not much older than Seta, riding his horse hard up the hill Seta had just crested. Once again he drew to the side of the road to let the rider pass.

The horse, however, had other plans, shying at the sight of the blue-garbed body waiting unexpectedly at the top of the hill.

The rider swore and jerked down on the reins hard to bring his horse under control. He wheeled it around in a tight circle, his lips pressed together in irritation.

Seta stood back and observed. The boy was of the samurai class. He still wore his hair in the traditional fashion of samurai during the shogunate, the top part of his head shaved bare with his topknot oiled and folded over the bald area. He wore charcoal grey hakama trousers, a white and blue striped kimono top with a lighter grey haori jacket over it. On both shoulders of the haori jacket were the small, circular mons – the boy's family crest. Seta glanced at it interestedly, but didn't recognize the design. Still, the expensive fabric and the fact that the boy flouted modern fashions and got away with it told Seta that he was from a rich family, perhaps even one of the daimyo families.

"You there, boy!"

Seta sighed inwardly as he pasted a smile on his face. He was getting really tired of being called 'boy', especially by someone who wasn't much older than he was. "Yes?"

"Did you see a crowd of horsemen go by?" The boy's face and voice were both angry, but Seta responded calmly.

"No, I only saw two horsemen." It was true, he'd only actually seen the two who had tried to steal his money, though the dust cloud led him to believe there had been more.

The boy's gaze dropped to the hilt of Seta's katana, sticking out at his hip. "That's illegal," he informed Seta, eyes narrowing. "Swords aren't allowed in the Meiji era."

"Then it looks like we're both breaking the law." Seta grinned and nodded at the Katana and wakizashi thrust through the boy's obi.

The boy, who still hadn't identified himself, looked taken aback, then angry. "If you think you can use that, then come with me," he ordered curtly. "I'm after a group of bandits."

Seta had had enough. In two hours it would be dark, and he meant to be in an inn or at least a farmhouse by then. "I'm very sorry. I'm on my way to the next town and I don't have time to hunt down bandits today." He bowed, turned his back and started down the hill.

"You can't say no to me! Don't you know who I am?" shouted the other boy incredulously.

"I believe I just did say no to you." Seta called back with a laugh, continuing to walk.

Shocked silence, then "Fine. I don't need your help!" came the boy's petulant voice.

By the sound of the hooves thudding into the ground, the boy had pulled his dancing horse back in line again, preparing to gallop off down the road. Before he did, however, he had one last thing to say.

"Why would I want the help of a fool who doesn't even know that the next closest town is in the opposite direction?" he yelled spitefully, then spurred his horse into a cantering charge down the hill.

Seta stopped dead and listened to the hoof beats fading away, then turned wearily around and trudged back up to the crest of the hill, retracing his steps.

What an obnoxious boy! He certainly didn't know the first thing about asking for help. Imagine, ordering a complete stranger to help him attack a group of bandits. Seta had absolutely no intention of going after and killing the same two bandits he'd just spared simply because some spoiled daimyo's brat ordered him to. He just hoped the boy hadn't been lying about the town being in the opposite direction.

Ah well, even if he was, Seta could still sleep out under the stars again. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done so since taking up the life of a wanderer over a year ago. However, it wasn't the most comfortable way to sleep.

On the off chance the boy was right, he'd better get moving if he wanted to make the town by nightfall. Steeling himself, he gathered his strength and began to run lightly down the road in the direction the boy and his horse had gone.

A/N: Does anybody know exactly how old Seta was when he fought Kenshin? I'm thinking fourteen or fifteen, but I haven't been able to find any mention of it in the anime.


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin characters or plot.

The sun was now closer to the far mountains on the horizon, and the sky turned pink. Seta ran onward, determined to make the next village by nightfall, despite all signs that the track was only leading him further up desolate mountain territory. Surely some farmer would open his home or barn to a poor smiling wanderer?

He crested a small hill and began to run down the other side, careful to place his feet on the dirt path's level portions so he wouldn't trip and fall. With the sun beginning to sink, the rock and scrubby trees on either side of the path were being veiled in shadows. The gulley he was descending, the low portion between his hill and the next, was already a darkened pool.

That was why Seta almost didn't see the motionless bundle by the side of the road.

There were hoof prints spotting the path beneath his feet, a profusion of them facing in odd directions as if horses had circled about each other rather than all going forward in the same direction.

Curious, Seta slowed his pace and noticed dark splotches interspersing the hoof prints like pieces of midnight in the grey shadows. They were drops of blood. That was when he raised his eyes off the path and noticed the body lying next to a group of rocks.

When Seta stopped, the cloud of dust he'd been producing as he ran billowed around him.

It floated past him and over the still form at his feet. The body didn't move, but a darkened shape a distance away did. It was the bandit's lame horse. Seta stared at it for a moment, and saw that it was calmly grazing on the weeds that grew by the trees near the road. It looked like the bandit got his replacement horse after all.

Seta walked forward and knelt down in the dirt. Reaching out, he grasped the corpse's shoulder and felt rather than saw the circular mons, the family crest, sewn onto the haori jacket under his fingertips.

He pulled the body onto its back, confirming his guess. It was the boy on the horse who'd ordered him to go with him to fight the bandits. The boy's eyes were open, staring into nothing. His head was still on his shoulders; the killing blow had gone in by his neck, breaking through the collarbone, and slicing midway down his torso.

Such wounds were nothing new to Seta. He'd inflicted ones like these himself.

Blood had soaked through the boy's kimono and jacket and was now on Seta's hands as well. He scooted back on his knees and let the boy's body come all the way over to rest flat on its back.

The boy must have caught up with his bandits. Judging by the amount of hoof prints, it was probably just the two bandits whose lives Seta had spared not long ago.

What sort of a fool would try to fight two older warriors alone?

Seta could do it because Seta had mastered the Tenbu no Sai Niyoru Ken style, but Shishio Makoto had taught Seta. Who had taught this boy his swordsmanship? Swordplay was going out of style in the new Meiji era. It was one of the many reasons Shishio Makoto despised the Meiji and tried to destroy it.

"The strong live, the weak die," whispered Seta to himself. Kenshin had shown him that this wasn't always true, that there was a better way to live; yet time and again Seta kept finding examples that seemed to confirm Shishio's mantra. The boy was too weak to defeat the two bandits, so he'd died. His horse was gone as well, taken by the men who'd defeated him.

From behind Seta came the sound of horsemen, a group of them, galloping. It was samurai, five of them, all older men who split their forces and expertly used their horses to circle around, surrounding him and the corpse.

Seta let them. He stood slowly and left his hands at his sides.

The oldest samurai, a grizzled warrior with piercing black eyes, glanced at the body, then at Seta's bloodstained hands, and spoke. "Where is Chizuru?"

Seta glanced down at the body, but realized 'Chizuru' was a woman's name, and besides, the samurai had already noticed the corpse.

"Who?"

The samurai's eyes hardened. "The daimyo's granddaughter." He nodded to the body. "Uriu's sister."

It all clicked into place then. The boy, Uriu, had been trying to save his sister from the bandits. Why else would a group of samurai be riding after bandits instead of letting the Meiji police force go after them?

That hadn't been arrogance in the boy's voice, but desperation. He'd demanded help from Seta, and Seta turned away.

Protect the weak.

It was what Kenshin lived by, and what Seta had tried to understand in the past year. In dying, Uriu had done a better job of it than Seta had. At least he'd fought for something other than himself.

His silence was making the samurai angry.

"Where is she?" he shouted, standing up in his stirrups.

"I don't know," muttered Seta, and then he did what he always did when confronted with violent emotion in others. He smiled.

The samurai urged his horse nearer and glared. He jerked his chin at the horsemen behind Seta in an unmistakable signal.

Seta could have escaped, could have run between the horses quicker than a blink, but he didn't. He also could have gone with the boy, protected him, but he hadn't.

It was better this way. He was responsible for the boy's death. The blow to the back of his neck caused him to see a bright flash of light, then all was darkness, as his knees buckled and he fell.

o-o-o

He woke to the swaying motion of a horse under his stomach, that and the warmth of strong legs, hard as tree trunks, against his left arm and hip. He'd been thrown belly down over the saddle of a horse, and was lying on the saddle's pommel, in front of the rider.

The next thing Seta noticed was that the familiar weight of the katana at his hip was missing. His arms were bound behind him, the complicated system of ropes twisting around his shoulders and upper torso, and looping back to his wrists, which were secured to the small of his back.

Seta raised his chin slightly and opened his eyes a crack, watching the blurred roadside trees and shrubs go by. His captor held the criss-crossed ropes with one hand firmly on Seta's back, making it impossible for Seta to slip off the horse and make a run for it.

Not that Seta planned to do such a thing. A boy, whose only crime was trying to save his sister from bandits, was dead because of him. It was Seta's fault for not helping; therefore he would pay. The girl was probably dead by now, or worse. Since the Meiji era many samurai had turned to banditry to survive. Any sense of honor or compassion they may have had was gone along with the Tokugawa shogunate and the complicated medieval system of loyalty and service that tied them to their lords.

"Stay still." growled the rider.

"Yes." agreed Seta, and lay his cheek back down against the horse's flank. He kept his eyes open and glanced around.

It was gloomy. The sun had just set. There were three other horsemen riding in a group behind the lead horse. There had been five before. That meant one was missing.

When the path bent around a boulder, Seta noticed that one other samurai in the group was carrying Uriu's body slung across his saddle. So the both of them, the living and the dead, were being transported the same way. He sighed and moved his fingers experimentally, testing the ropes against his wrists. They held without any give. Whoever had tied him knew what he was doing.

The path, evidently a shortcut, gave way to a wider track, which led up a steep hill. Turning his head, Seta gazed past the horse's nose at a tall, three storied house, not quite a castle, but giving the impression of a fortress, which grew larger and larger the closer they came.

Stone lanterns with candles lit inside them appeared on either side of the entry gate. As soon as the horses passed the gate, a cluster of servants ran out the door and met them. From his vantage point, Seta had a clear view of their faces as they saw the body of Uriu, slung across the saddle of the horse to his rear.

The men blanched. The women's faces crumpled in grief and shock and they began to wail. Seta's captor swung off his horse just as the male servants ran forward to take the corpse from the samurai who'd transported it. Reverently, they carried it into the house, the women trailing behind, still crying.

Seta's captor yelled out a name, and one of the younger male servants broke away from the group and came running.

"Yes, Shimizu-san?"

"Take the horses to the stable," the samurai ordered.

"Yes, of course." The servant bowed and took the reins that Shimizu handed him.

Shimizu turned quickly and hauled Seta off the horse expertly by grasping the elaborate mass of knotted rope at his back and sliding him off. He set him down on his feet. Keeping his hand in the ropes, the samurai, Shimizu, pushed him into a walk.

As they came to the door, Seta glanced up at the taller older man walking next to him. Shimizu was the one who'd first spoken to him, evidently the leader of the samurai.

A younger samurai, middle aged, with horrible cuts on his face and neck, came up to Shimizu. "Who will tell Muneiwa-san about his grandson?"

Shimizu's face tightened. "He knows."

It was true. The daimyo of the house would have to be deaf not to hear the servants' cries of grief.

Shimizu tightened his hold on the ropes binding Seta, forcing him to stop. Then he spoke to the other man. "Beppo. Take this one and lock him up."

Beppo's scarred face grimaced, but he reached out and took hold of the ropes just as Shimizu released them. "The shed?"

"No." Shimizu's voice was sharp. "Put him in the far guest chamber on the first floor."

Beppo's eyes flashed surprise, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it, nodded, and lowered his chin.

Shimizu seemed to sense the disapproval Seta felt coming off the younger man in waves, for he reached out and grasped his arm. "Muneiwa will decide that one's fate, but not tonight. Tonight is for mourning our dead. Guard him well."

With one last nod, Shimizu leapt up the steps and strode away into the house.

Beppo shoved Seta forward, barely giving him time to catch his balance before pushing him up the steps and they followed Shimizu into the daimyo's abode.

The room Beppo pushed Seta into was small and bare. There was no futon, and Seta didn't think that asking for one was the wisest idea. Neither, judging by the angry, grief-stricken look on Beppo's face, was talking.

So he stumbled over to the wall Beppo nudged him toward and sat down. Beppo pulled his katana from his obi and sat across the room from him, laying the sword at his left side, so that it would be easy to draw if the need arose.

Seta got the message. Quietly, he lay against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

Despite the wailing and grieving sounds coming faintly from deeper inside the house, Seta must have managed it. The next thing he knew, it was morning.

Beppo was replaced by a hard-eyed servant who clutched a butcher knife in his hand. He looked as though he was aching for a chance to use it. Seta smiled at him, but for once his smile didn't have the usual affect, so he subsided and waited.

They fed him, the servant lifting the bowl of soup to his mouth without untying him, let him use the privy untied with a samurai standing guard, then re-tied him and took him back to the featureless room.

An hour later, Beppo returned.

"Get up," he ordered brusquely. The man's eyes looked bloodshot and tired in the light diffusing through the paper panes across the room. Seta felt obscurely guilty for having slept. He wished he could have told the man that he had no intention of escaping, so Beppo could have slept too, but why should Beppo believe him?

He stood up as quickly as he could and made his way to the door, allowing Beppo to grasp the ropes at his back and shove him down the corridor.

Beppo propelled him down various hallways into a large room. At the far end was a man, older even than Shimizu, dressed in a grand white kimono with a black Kataginu, the stiffened wide shouldered garment with the family crest embroidered on it. His hakama trousers were tucked under his knees as he sat and stared out of watery brown eyes.

By the way everyone else in the room was clustered around him, he had to be Muneiwa, the daimyo. Despite his air of authority, the old man had a glazed, beaten look on his face.

Seta recognized Shimizu, the grizzled samurai, and two others who'd been with the party that captured him, all seated before the daimyo, along with some others, servants he supposed.

Shimizu was reporting to Muneiwa that the samurai he'd left behind to keep tracking the bandits hadn't come back yet, and Muneiwa was nodding, his wrinkled face set like stone.

Without warning, Beppo shoved Seta to the floor. Seta bowed awkwardly at the waist, so low that his forehead touched the ground, and remained there politely, waiting in silence.

"Is this the one, Shimizu?"

The daimyo's voice was the voice of an old man, wavering and querulous in his grief.

"Yes, Muneiwa-san."

There was a silence, then Muneiwa spoke again. "Our heir is dead. His sister is lost to us. I am the last of my line, and I have no one dear to me to take on the Muneiwa name. These bandits have taken everything. They scour our countryside. They steal from my people, and think me powerless to stop them."

So, the dead boy's parents must also be dead, if Muneiwa had no other heirs.

Muneiwa paused. There was a faint rustling from Shimizu and the other samurai. Seta realized the daimyo's words had pricked their pride as warriors. Before the Meiji Era it was the daimyo and his samurais' responsibility to keep the peace. Seta remained bowing low. Muneiwa hadn't given him leave to rise to a seated position yet.

"I say to these worthless enemies that not everyone has forgotten the old ways." Muneiwa's voice rose to a shouted growl. "There will be justice. Our forces may be small but we understand the price of honor. Uriu and Chizuru will be avenged."

The words reverberated throughout the audience hall. Seta figured that the servants in the hallways outside heard everything for there was a stirring within the house, mirroring the fierce muttered "yes" of agreement from the samurai warriors within the audience chamber.

"Sit up, prisoner."

That must mean him. Seta rose slowly to an upright-seated position, wiggling his fingers to get some circulation back in them now that Muneiwa and the others couldn't see them anymore.

He gazed back at Muneiwa who was glaring at him with a mixture of hatred and incredulity.

"Konichiwa." Seta greeted him calmly.

Muneiwa grimaced and looked away towards Shimizu, ignoring Seta's words.

"Tell me again where you found him."

Shimizu bowed his head for an instant, as if gathering his thoughts, then raised his chin and spoke. "The prisoner was found crouched next to Uriu's body. He had blood on his hands. There was a lame horse wandering nearby. Uriu's horse was gone."

"His comrades murdered my grandson. This one must have been left behind when his horse went lame," Muneiwa guessed in a flat voice.

Seta drew in breath to speak, then let it out with a sigh. Nothing he said would change Muneiwa's mind. He recognized the look in the daimyo's eyes. It was the same look Shishio had whenever he spoke of his plans for a newer, stronger Japan. He'd made up his mind.

Muneiwa glared at Seta, and hunched his shoulders. "He is a bandit. Take him out and execute him. Get him out of my sight."

"No." A strong, masculine voice rang out from somewhere behind Seta.

All eyes, including Seta's, whipped around to the open shoji screen at the back of the room.

A man stood in the doorway. He was tall but stocky with broad shoulders to match his broad face. He was dressed in a modern western style police uniform of navy blue buttoned tunic and narrow pants. His face was rounded with almond shaped, intelligent eyes, and his air of command matched that of Muneiwa.

Seta looked back at Muneiwa and saw the old man dip his head grudgingly out of respect.

"This is the Meiji Era now. The government is in charge of law and order, not the daimyos, Muneiwa-san."

Seta looked back and saw that the police officer had entered the room, other policemen with handguns holstered at their waists, spilling into the room behind him, as their leader continued. "There must be an official trial, Muneiwa-san." He said, his voice softening a bit as he took in the grief stricken old man's impotent anger.

Muneiwa glared. "I did not invite you into my house, Kanagawa-san." The old man nearly choked on the 'san', the honorific title signifying that the policeman was of equal rank to himself.

Kanagawa bowed correctly at the hip. "I apologize Muneiwa-san, but I thought you would like to know as soon as possible that we have captured some of the bandits and retrieved your granddaughter."

Muneiwa froze.

Seeing that surprise robbed the Daimyo of speech, Kanagawa turned and snapped his fingers at the doorway. Two policemen dragged in a man Seta had never seen before, his hands fastened with modern style iron manacles. The man wore stained brown hakama and lighter brown gi. His hair was shoulder length and unkempt, and there was a large bruise on his cheek.

"This one, we believe, is the leader. His name is Gombei," Kanagawa observed dispassionately as the bandit attempted to spit on his shoes, and missed.

Seta figured that Kanagawa's men hadn't been particularly polite when they'd captured the bandit, judging by the raging hatred in the criminal's eyes.

Another policeman entered the room, herding in a young girl who entered timidly with small steps. At least Seta thought she was young by the way she held herself, back bowed, arms crisscrossed hugging her chest. She had long bangs, and with her head bowed it was difficult to see her face. Like the bandit's garb, her clothing, a green and white kimono, was dusty and wrinkled.

"Ah." Kanagawa caught sight of the girl and motioned to the policeman to bring her forward. The young man reached behind her to touch her on the back, but she reacted first, jumping forward in a startled manner, and dropping to her knees on the floor to bow before her grandfather.

"I have returned your granddaughter to you." said Kanagawa.

The bandit leader took that moment to wrench his arm free from one of the policemen holding him and lunged toward Kanagawa. "Yeah, but not before I had her." He snarled as the policeman secured his arm again. Kanagawa merely stared his contempt at the man. He hadn't moved or reacted at all, trusting that his men would restrain the bandit.

The bandit struggled briefly, then barked an evil laugh, glared at both Kanagawa and Muneiwa, and subsided.

Seta blinked as he took in the bandit's meaning. He happened to be looking at the daimyo and saw the shock, saw his wrinkled face muscles slacken, then tighten.

"Is this true?" Muneiwa's voice thundered.

The bandit grinned, kicked at the policeman next to him, and opened his mouth, only to have the longsuffering guard finally snap and elbow him sharply in the ribs. His triumphant smile turned to a curse of pain and he doubled over.

Seta knew, however, that Muneiwa wasn't even looking at the bandit. His eyes were focused, as were everyone else's, on the girl.

She pulled her torso upright, her arms still crossed over her chest. Her eyes glanced around the room wildly, realizing that she was the center of attention.

Without a word, she burst into tears and hunched over again.

Seta looked back to Muneiwa, whose face was once again set in a dignified mass of stone.

"Give him to me," he ordered quietly.

Kanagawa's eyes filled with sympathy, but he shook his head slowly. "He is already logged in the official records as being in my custody."

Muneiwa stared down at his knees and began to shake with rage.

Kanagawa continued. "However, your prisoner is not logged in. My jail is full. You may keep him until the trial."

Muneiwa refused to answer, so Kanagawa shrugged and motioned to his men to drag the sagging body of the bandit out. An older female servant scampered over to the girl and gently pulled her from the room as soon as the bandit was gone.

Just as Kanagawa turned to go, Muneiwa spoke. "In the old days, that man would be pressed to death before me for daring to insult my family. This new era is worthless."

Kanagawa stiffened and his almond eyes went cold. "I will pretend I did not hear that, Muneiwa-san, but rest assured, if your prisoner happens to die before the trial, I will remember it."

He bowed, and marched out, leaving Seta to an uncertain fate.

"My lord?" Shimizu's voice, silent while Kanazawa and the police were in the room, rang out as the silence left in their wake stretched on.

"Remove the prisoner from my sight." Muneiwa sat with his head still bowed.

Shimizu snapped his fingers and the samurai nearest Seta got up, marched over, and hauled him to his feet by grabbing the knots at his back and lifting.

Seta let his shoulders slump in disappointment. It was just getting interesting again and he had to go.

It had certainly been an eventful morning. He gave a last glance around the audience chamber. There was Muneiwa, holding court, with his anxious, loyal retainers gathered around him. Muneiwa had no power anymore, not really now that the daimyos' Hans had been turned into provinces ruled by governors with government troops and police forces at their disposal. Yet still he clung to the old ways.

Seta wondered what Shishio would have made of all of this. Would he have admired the bandits for taking what they could by brute force? Or the Daimyo, for trying to grab onto the old power and the old ways? He definitely would not have liked Kanagawa, who was a Meiji man through and through.

Then Seta thought of Kenshin, and was ashamed of his speculation. Over a year of wandering and Seta still allowed Shishio to influence his thoughts. Perhaps death was a fitting punishment. He didn't seem to have changed all that much.

With a sigh, Seta allowed himself to be propelled out of the audience hall and back to his chamber.

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers (Ayumu-in-Blue, Applesoveroranges, Yoko the Demon Fox, Smiling Blue-Clad Wanderer's Obsession, Genki Ninjagirl, Kie-san, Wyrd, Crystal Snowflakes, SailorEarth13, Lolo popoki, Moeru himura, and Misaoshiru) who tried to help me figure out Seta Soujiro's age. Every website I consulted seemed to give a different story – some said he was born in 1861, others in 1857. The anime series never mentioned his age when Shishio took him on as apprentice, but Shishio was burned when they met and the burning probably happened after the battle of Toba Fushima (when Kenshin hung up his katana and started to wander) in 1868. If you figure that Shishio met Soujiro shortly after that, and from the consensus of my reviewers, Soujiro was at least 7 or 8 at the time, that would make him, say, 18 or thereabouts 10 years later when he fought Kenshin. Unfortunately we can't go by looks/appearances since Watsuki is notorious for drawing characters who appear younger than they actually are (Kenshin and Hiko positively spring to mind as examples). For the purposes of my story, I'm going to make Seta Soujiro approximately 20 years old when he meets the bandits and the samurai kid on the road.

Note to Reviewers:

Ayumu-in-blue – Glad you liked the battle scene. There will be another one soon.

Applesoveroranges – Hey, if you have to be obsessed, at least you're obsessed with a truly fascinating character. You had a lot better luck with websites than I did, the ones I found gave contradictory ages!

Skenshingumi – I'm glad you found the line about 'the weak' amusing! Taken as a whole, the bulk of humanity tends to be easier to love in theory than in practice.

Larie-chan – Yes, I know Seta is his last name. I decided to use it because it seemed less familiar than using his first one, and Soujiro is a stranger in unfamiliar territory in this story. Thanks for sending me muses!

Smiling Blue-Clad Wanderer – I think half your review got cut off! I do agree with your assessment of Seta Soujiro though, he's a cutie-pie!

Genki Ninjagirl – as for why I asked, see the 'Author's Note' above – I had to guess on age since Watsuki (the creator of Rurouni Kenshin) left it pretty vague.

Erica Madarine – Glad you liked the beginning. As for the name, I called him 'Seta' for stylistic reasons, but if you hold on until the end, I will slip in a 'Soujiro' or two.

Flamer – Actually, it's BOTH 'Seta' and 'Soujiro'. 'Seta' is the family name, while 'Soujiro' is what we in America would call his 'first name' or his 'christian name'. In Japan, the family name comes first when properly introducing a person, so his full name is: Seta, Soujiro-which is how he is introduced in the anime if you watch the Japanese version. I've chosen to refer to him by his family name, since Seta is a stranger to everyone he meets in the story and they would think of him as Seta (with a possible honorific title attached, though I doubt anyone would be too polite to a presumed bandit!). Historically, until the Meiji era, only the upper classes in Japan were even allowed to have a family name. Family names were adopted for everyone once the corrupt Tokugawa Shogunate fell and Japan adopted a more democratic government system. Even today, in formal or business relationships in Japan it is customary to refer to a person by their last name, at least until you get to know them very well. But you're correct in a sense, to the fans who love him, Seta Soujiro will always be just 'Soujiro' – or Sojiro or Soujirou – depending on which translation you prefer!

Kie-san – Glad you liked chapter one! You told me what you liked about Soujiro, but what are your favorite things about Kenshin and Sano?

Wyrd – So far as I know, it's never mentioned in Rurouni Kenshin about Okubo having a son, but as I'm sure you've read by now, Uriu turns out to be the grandson of a daimyo, and I had to kill him off to make the story work. So you know how to ride? I don't think I've been on a horse since I was in Junior High! I'd probably fall off if I tried to ride again!

Sueb262 – Thanks for the compliment! Soujiro's inner voice is tough to write. Reformed sociopaths are really difficult to portray well!

Moeru himura – I too thought it would be nice to show that Kenshin's influence 'stuck' on Soujiro. Soujiro is turning from depraved indifference to a caring human being with a sense of social responsibility, but it isn't easy for him. I gave him a sword just because I couldn't imagine him without one. After all, even Kenshin had a sakabatou when he went wandering!

Misaoshiru – Good point! I don't think a five year old would have the upper body strength necessary to slaughter his abusive family. I'm glad you liked chapter one. Thanks for saying so!


	3. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin characters or plot.

The rains came, falling steadily through the afternoon and evening and through to the next morning. It seemed that the rain, so long delayed, was making up for lost time. The droplets fell especially hard the next morning, creating a pounding racket so loud at times that Seta couldn't overhear the conversations in the hall outside his chamber.

He always had a guard in the room with him. They came and went in shifts, but they ordered him to silence whenever he tried to strike up a conversation with them.

So he eavesdropped instead, straining his ears whenever servants walked through the corridor outside. That was how he learned, in between the noisier bursts of rain, that the bridge leading from the town to the daimyo's compound had been washed out. He learned also that Uriu's cremation had to be put off as well.

Everything was on hold because of the weather.

Seta sat and smiled.

The guards watched him.

The rain fell.

By mid-afternoon on this, the second full day of his capture, Seta's arms were beginning to ache unbearably. He went through his kata, his sword practice, in his head, tensing and releasing the muscles he would have used had he been free. Even that wasn't enough to ease the strain of being tied up for days on end.

Finally, it was Shimizu's turn to watch him.

The old samurai dismissed the last guard and sat across from Seta. In his hand he carried the Nagasone Kotetsu, Seta's sword. It was the one Kenshin Himura had shattered in their first battle. Shishio had repaired it and returned it to Seta. It was the one thing he took with him when he left his former master, for what is a swordsman without a sword?

Shimizu held it up with both hands so it lay in his palms horizontally in its sheath. "This is yours."

Seta nodded.

Shimizu's eyes dropped to the sheathed blade. "It is a fine sword." His eyes went back to Seta's face, challengingly. "It is a blade worthy of a samurai."

Seta laughed and grinned self-deprecatingly. "Oh no, you're making a mistake. I'm no samurai. The katana was a gift."

Shimazu pulled the sheath slowly from the blade, allowing all but the tip to show, its graceful deadly curve gleaming in the watery afternoon light. "This blade has been repaired. Why?"

Keeping his smile on his face, Seta replied. "Why, I broke it in a fight over a year ago."

"Your opponent?"

"He lived." Seta remembered his shock at seeing the result of Kenshin's strength on the cracked surface of his blade. He remembered something else and his grin widened. "But his own blade snapped in two."

"What happened then?"

There was more than casual interest in Shimizu's eyes. He was deadly serious. Seta noted it, but didn't let it bother him. "We stopped fighting." He shrugged. "We had to get our swords repaired."

"And after that?"

Ah, after that. After that Seta and Kenshin fought again, in Shishio's lair. Kenshin won, and Seta's world changed forever because of it. Everything he'd believed, everything Shishio taught him, had been called into question. He'd never met anyone like Kenshin before.

"We fought again. I lost, but he let me go." Over a year later, Seta still couldn't quite believe it. The wonder of it was still in his voice. He glanced at Shimizu to see if he heard it too, and found the old warrior staring at him searchingly.

"Turn around."

Seta blinked, but obeyed, hunkering around until his back faced Shimizu. There was a rasping sound as the old samurai pulled Seta's blade completely out of the sheath. Willing himself not to tense up, Seta remained absolutely still as he felt the kissaki, the sharpened tip of his Nagasone Kotetsu, slice through the ropes binding him.

The cords fell away.

There was a 'snick' sound as the Nagasone Kotetsu was re-sheathed.

Seta turned back around and sat, massaging his wrists. "Thank you Shimizu-san, but won't you get in trouble for freeing me?" he asked questioningly.

"I'm not freeing you." Shimizu retorted. "I'm untying you. You're still my prisoner." He watched without comment as Seta continued to rub at the sore spots on his wrists where the rope had cut into his skin.

"How old are you?" the old samurai burst out.

Pausing in his efforts to restore circulation to his fingers, Seta looked up. "I'm twenty, I think."

"Twenty?" barked Shimizu, incredulously. "You look like you're twelve."

Seta grinned. "I know. I get that a lot. I think it's because I'm small."

The older samurai snorted. "You're only twenty, you know how to use a sword worthy of a samurai, and someone thought you worthy enough to let you go instead of killing you." Shimizu recounted what he knew of Seta's history matter-of-factly. Then his eyes narrowed. "What do you know of honor?"

The question came from out of the blue, surprising him. Seta opened his eyes wide. Why was Shimizu asking that of him? A boy Shimizu believed to be a bandit, if not the bandit, who'd killed his daimyo's heir?

He thought for a while then answered. "I don't know much about honor. For a long time I believed that strength was more important than honor, or right or wrong."

"And now?" Shimizu once again had that intent, searching look in his eyes.

"I wasn't raised in a samurai family." Seta winced at the thought of his true family, his rice merchant father's legitimate wife and children, who'd used him as an unpaid servant, when they weren't busy beating him up or cursing at him, the unwanted bastard. "So I don't know about samurai honor, but I think honor is protecting the weak," he said carefully. "I think honor is doing what is right, not what is easy."

Shimizu stared at him for a while, and Seta met his gaze without flinching. He realized that his habitual smile had slipped from his face when he answered Shimizu's question, and for once he left it off.

The old warrior nodded thoughtfully, and flipped the sheathed katana so that it pointed up to the roof. Grasping the skah under the tsuba – the rectangular guard piece between the blade and the hilt – with his right hand, he formally extended the sword to Seta.

Not quite believing it, Seta reached out with his right and took hold of the skah protruding out from under Shimizu's hand, and felt the added weight as the older samurai released his grasp, leaving the sword in Seta's hand.

He hesitated a moment. Shimizu was displaying an awful lot of trust in him. The older samurai didn't have a clue how fast Seta, a master of the battoujutsu style, actually was, but even so, handing your enemy a sword as you sat right in front of him?

Seta held out his left hand and let the top end of the sheath fall into it, then reversed his right hand grip on the skah and used his left hand to maneuver the sheathed blade across his body so he could set it parallel to his leg on his right hand side, the sharp edge facing inward. It was the most respectful place to put a sword.

By tradition and logistics, a sword placed at a warrior's right hand side was hardest to draw. Since most swordsmen were right handed, it was more logical to place a sword on the left side of the body, to make it easier to grab the sheath with the left hand and reach across your body with your right hand to draw the blade out. Therefore, placing a sword at one's right side signified trust that the sword wouldn't have to be drawn. It signified trust in the other occupant of the room.

Once the sword was down, Seta placed his hands on the floor in front of his knees and bowed quickly. When he raised his upper torso from the bow, he saw Shimizu's gaze flick to the sword at Seta's right, and he thought for an instant that the old samurai's eyes flashed approval.

"I need your word of honor that you will not try to escape."

Seta nodded gravely.

Shimizu seemed content with that. He glanced around the room. "Do you want anything? Tea?"

"No, thank you Shimizu-san. I'm fine." Seta paused then continued. "There is one thing though."

Shimizu's grey eyebrows drew together. "What is it?"

"If it's alright with you, I was wondering if I could sit on the engawa and watch the rain?"

The space between Shimizu's eyebrows smoothed out and his face relaxed. "Of course."

Shimizu stood up and walked over to the shoji screen on the opposite side and pulled it open, revealing the floorboards of the engawa, the long porch that wrapped around most Japanese houses. Above and beyond that lay the back garden, perfectly framed by the shoji's open doorway.

It was a tiny paradise. Fragrant cedar trees grew in a clump to the left. A cherry tree, bereft of flowers this time of year, dominated the right side of the view. It grew in front of a mass of shrubs in varying shades of green. Beyond the cherry tree the rest of the garden stretched out, with the tip of a pond just visible beyond the cedars. At the very edge of the floorboards, a few late iris blossoms protruded up past the engawa's surface.

The rain had slowed to a light drizzle while Seta and Shimizu were talking, but the dark clouds massed above promised harder rain later. For now, Seta got up and joined Shimizu who'd already sat on the porch.

He gazed out at the garden and inhaled the good, clean smell of wet earth and damp foliage. Before he died, before Seta had killed him, Senkaku once said that he was grateful when Kenshin had shown him mercy, so that he could enjoy sitting in the sunshine once more.

Seta hadn't understood then. All he'd known was that Senkaku failed in his battle with Kenshin. Senkaku proved himself weak, and thus according to Shishio's logic, Senkaku deserved to die. So Seta killed him as he sat enjoying the sunshine in front of a stream.

That was the sort of person Seta was when he'd served his master, Shishio. But now, sitting on the porch and looking out at the garden, Seta at last understood what Senkaku meant. It was good to be alive. It was good to enjoy whatever moments you had left on the earth. Even if you didn't deserve happiness.

All at once the room, even the open porch, seemed too confining.

"Excuse me, Shimizu-san, but could I walk in the garden a little? I'd like to stretch my legs for a while."

Shimizu looked at him, then nodded curtly. "Don't leave the grounds."

Seta laughed. "I've given you my word, haven't I? I guess that means I'm stuck here!" he told the older samurai as he bowed and slipped off the porch.

For a while he contented himself with walking back and forth in front of the porch. The rain was more of a heavy mist now, and it pearled on his face, hair, and hands. When Shimizu showed no signs of objecting, Seta ambled down past the cedars to the edge of the pond.

Small lily pads were scattered along the surface, and every so often there was a flash of a scaled carp, cruising the water beneath them.

There was another flash as well, from over to the left.

Narrowing his eyes, Seta saw that it was the girl, Chizuru, in a white and pink kimono and red obi. She was strolling further down the edge of the pond, by a rounded ornamental bridge that led to an open pavilion, a teahouse, on an island in the middle of the water. She leaned down for a moment, and was lost behind some shrubs.

Folding his arms, Seta watched and waited, sheltered beneath a cedar that grew near the edge of the pond.

She rose up again and slipped something into the long sleeve of her kimono. Seta heard a 'clink'. Then she paced a bit and leaned over again. This time, due to a break in the shrubberies, Seta saw her pick up a large round pebble. This pebble ended up in her sleeve as well.

The girl moved further to the left, her eyes fixed on the ground. Curious as to why the granddaughter of a daimyo should be collecting rocks from the garden, Seta followed at a distance. She gathered a few more pebbles, distributing them evenly between the sleeves of her kimono, as she rounded the far edge of the pond.

Here a few boulders skirted the surface of the waters. There were no lily pads, signifying that the pond was deeper than at the shallow end where Seta had started to follow the girl.

She gathered her kimono skirts about her with one hand, and climbed onto a flat, grey boulder. Stepping to the edge, she slipped her feet out of her sandals and stared into the water lapping at the boulder's edge.

She seemed mesmerized by it, leaning over it further and still further until…

Realizing what she meant to do, Seta reacted, using shukuchi, a footwork technique that allowed a swordsman to put on incredible speed.

Just as the girl's body hit the midway point between balance and falling, he grabbed her about the waist and pulled her back down the boulder.

She fell against him and tilted her head back to stare at him. They were the same height, Seta noticed, or would be if she stood up, but for now she was slumped against him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Seta Soujiro."

He grinned down at her happily, and used his most cheerful and non-threatening voice. "And you really don't want to go for a swim today. It's too cold and rainy out. Besides, don't you think your family would miss you?"

Seta meant it facetiously, meant the words to mean that her grandfather must wonder where she was right now, but he could see in her eyes that she knew he'd guessed that she meant to drown herself. He sobered.

"Why?" he asked simply.

Leaning back against him, Seta could finally see beneath the girl's bangs. Her face was heart shaped, like Yumi's. Yumi was Shishio's concubine, and the only woman who'd ever shown Seta anything close to motherly affection. However, there the resemblance ended. While Yumi's nose had been thin and patrician, this girl's nose was smaller, cute rather than beautiful. Her hair was thicker and darker and her eyes too were darker than Yumi's, and were bright with fear and desperation.

"Grandfather thinks I've been ruined." she whispered.

"Thinks?" Seta focused on the telling phrase.

She nodded, seemingly mesmerized by him. "They were going to…" she couldn't bring herself to say the words, but she swallowed and continued as Seta felt a deep shudder rack her body. "but there was no time. They ripped my kimono when they grabbed me." She touched her shoulder and Seta remembered the way she'd kept her arms crossed over her chest in the audience chamber. She must have been holding the fabric closed.

"But we were on horseback. The leader held me. He kept…touching me, but he didn't want to stop the horses until he got to their hideout in the mountains, not even when one of the horses went lame. Then they ran right into a government patrol and…" she lifted her hand wordlessly and let it fall.

Seta could figure out the rest. He imagined the confusion of the attack. She'd probably seen men die for the first time, and then the disorientation of being rescued and hauled back to her grandfather. But there was one more thing he didn't understand.

"If that's the case, then why did you cry when your grandfather asked you about it?" He asked curiously.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I was embarrassed, and everybody was looking at me." Her voice held a sort of horror that Seta didn't really understand. Didn't women want to be looked at? Yumi seemed to enjoy being admired. However, Yumi hadn't been raised the granddaughter of a daimyo. Perhaps things were different in the upper classes.

He heard a muffled shout behind him and shifted to see Shimizu coming forward around the pond, his hand on his sword's skah.

"Oh dear, I think Shimizu-san may have the wrong idea," he told Chizuru ruefully.

Moving carefully, he gently moved his grip from her waist to her upper arms and set her on her feet in front of him then stepped away just as Shimizu came up.

The older samurai cast a sharp glance at them both, but remembered his manners and bowed low at the waist to Chizuru.

"Lady," he greeted her respectfully, yet with an obvious tone of reproach. "You shouldn't be out here with the prisoner."

The girl swallowed and clenched her fists. Seta noticed that she saw the suspicious way Shimizu was looking at him. He wondered what, if anything, she'd do about it.

"I nearly…fell. He caught me," she said softly, staring at the ground as her face turned pink with a blush. Shimizu saw it and stared at Seta, who put his hands up and shrugged as if to say he didn't know why she was blushing.

"He is one of the bandits, lady." Shimizu growled. "He may have been the one who killed your brother." Shimizu kept his gaze on Seta, challengingly.

Chizuru's head came up sharply. She gave Seta a stricken look, then backed away and ran towards the house. As she went, he heard, faintly, the pebbles she'd used to weight her kimono sleeves clinking together.

He opened his mouth to comment, then realized Shimizu was still glaring at him. Sighing, Seta walked around the old warrior and headed back to the house.

The rain began to thud down in hard droplets.

It was ironic, really. In the year or so of wandering around Seta had done nothing to save anyone. He'd worked odd jobs, but had always been paid for it in food if not in money. The very first time he'd managed to do something completely altruistic was on the eve of his own death.

The daimyo wanted revenge, and Seta was, in a way, responsible for the heir's death. He had to accept this punishment. He was, after all, guilty of murder many times over. He'd assassinated Okubo, and Senkaku. And then there was his family too. They'd planned to kill him, and he'd taken Shishio's gift, a wakizashi, and slaughtered them, even though he was just a child at the time.

It had been raining then as well.

Seta raised his face to the rain and wished that he could cry again as he had for the very last time when he killed his family, but the tears wouldn't come.

Shimizu had walked past him as he stood looking up at the sky, and was waiting on the engawa. He sighed and followed Shimizu back into the house.

Note to Reviewers:

Flamer – You go right ahead and call him 'Sou-chan' if it makes you happy! I love the diminutive suffix – 'chan'. It makes him sound even cuter than he already is. Sou-chan forever!

Skeshingumi – Thanks for the official age information on Seta! Er, how tall in feet and inches is 163 cm? I'm hopeless at metric. By the way, when are you going to write a story so I can review you back? I feel bad that you're doing all the work here of reviewing and I can't do anything to repay your kindness!

WolfDaughter – How did your final exams go? I'm glad chapter two provided a welcome break from them! You're really sweet to say that my stories are 'enthralling'. My last couple of stories were fluffy ones written just for fun.

Ayumu-in-blue – I gave you an idea for a one-shot? Cool! I hope this chapter is just as inspiring!

Applesoveroranges – You're welcome for the review – I liked reading it. Don't apologize! The only way to polish your writing skills is to just sit down and write, so keep it up!

Moeru himura – You're right about the daimyo joining the meiji administration. Most simply became the 'elected' governors of their provinces – it was how the meiji government placated them when they reorganized society. Historians like to point out that while outward appearances changed, the ruling elite class still managed to end up in power positions after the restoration of the emperor. Not all daimyo, however, got the good jobs. I decided to make Muneiwa one of the overlooked daimyo. He has no army, only a few samurai who remained loyal and stayed on as servants, and his hatred of change precluded him from taking on an active role in the Meiji government. Thanks for the vote of confidence about using Soujiro's surname!

Wyrd – I'm glad you're liking the story. Way to go with the riding! Do you ride Western or English style? I took English riding lessons about a gazillion years ago, but I don't think I could hop on a horse again without falling right off! As you can see from this chapter, Chizuro didn't actually get attacked 'that way' by the bandit, though he's definitely still going to have to face the music during his trial. I'm glad you like the name 'Beppo'. I have to admit, I stole it from a history book. Beppo was Saigo Takamori's second during his seppuku ritual, so he was the one who actually decapitated him – at least that's one version of how Saigo died when his revolt against the Meiji government failed!

Conspirator – Thanks for reading! It's always a pleasure to get a review from someone I respect so much! As for the story being long…er…(squirms embarrassedly)…it's going to be five chapters! Sorry that's all there is!

Babygirl – Oh man, I made you cry? Cheer up! I plan to use 'Soujiro' at least once at the end of the story, so I won't be calling him by his surname the whole time, I promise!

Another Baka – Me too, otherwise I wouldn't be writing a story about him.

Sailor-Earth13 – Thanks for the compliment. 'Conflicted' is definitely what I'm aiming for with Soujiro! I'm glad you noticed!

Loise – Thanks for the information on his age! I'm glad you're enjoying Soujiro's POV – it's been an interesting challenge to write his reactions and thought processes!

LadyRhiyana – Thanks for the compliments! In the anime, they made such a point about Soujiro not having any discernible emotions, that I've tried to make him emotionally detached in my story too. Even his emotional breakdown while fighting Kenshin wouldn't be enough to cause him to throw off years of hiding his feelings, and I think that the road back to normality would be a long and rocky one for him. My story is just a bump on that road.

Lolo popoki – Yep, Seta was definitely caught red handed last chapter, and in this one he gets caught with his hands full as well – only this time it's not a corpse! Poor Seta, he just can't seem to win.

Kasifya – Thanks for the hug and the kind words. I hope you like this chapter too!

Larie-chan – Disney stinted on the muses? That's really cheap of them! In the movie 'Xanadu' they only focused on ONE muse – and she was played by Olivia Newton John – the actress from 'Grease'. Poor muses, they don't seem to get the respect they deserve from Hollywood! Thanks again for the Soujiro age info. I got a lot of help from my reviewers on that one!

Sueb262 – Thanks for the horse correction! I can't believe I got the ends mixed up! I'll have to go back and try to fix that!

Kie-san – I think Soujiro should go through life with his katana in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other! You're right, he does look on at life, like someone watching a movie. He watches and processes information, but he doesn't really participate emotionally, at least not yet. I want him to keep struggling with that, rather than have a total personality change after his enlightening fight with Kenshin. You're right about Kenshin as well, there are very few guys in real life who are as nice as him! And Sanosuke's got that 'brooding bad boy' look down pat! I have to say though, for me, Saitoh has got to be the ultimate in brooding anti-heroes. There's just something about those narrow eyes and those bangs…sigh.


	4. Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin plot or characters.

The curious thing about knowing he was going to die was the fact that Seta wasn't frightened of it anymore. He'd been terrified as a child when his half-brothers tried to kill him. He remembered running from them, wide-eyed, screaming for help from someone, anyone at all.

But no one heard.

No one came, not even Shishio, who was hiding in the storage barn only a few steps away.

In the end Seta took up the wakizashi Shishio gave him and saved himself by killing all those who'd tormented him, including the women of the family.

He'd cried after it was over, but hid his tears in the raindrops, and by smiling at Shishio. Shishio, impressed by his smiling denial that the killing bothered him at all, had taken him in and groomed him as his personal weapon. He was called the Tenken, heaven's sword.

A weapon doesn't feel anger or pity or fear.

Emotions were weaknesses, and as Shishio's tool, Seta couldn't afford to feel them. Now that he was no longer a tool, Seta still didn't feel them, at least not the way other people seemed to feel.

He smiled because it was considered a pleasant thing to do, not because he was happy.

He worked because he needed money to live, not because he liked to help people. He didn't dislike it either, it was just something he had to do, so he smiled as he did it, in order to fit in.

He was willing to die now because it was justice that he pay for his past crimes. Justice was the balance between right and wrong. Kenshin made him see that there was a difference between right and wrong, that being strong and winning didn't automatically make you right.

Seta got that. It was brought painfully home to him when he lay on the floor of the practice hall after Kenshin defeated him, and realized that Kenshin wasn't going to kill him. Kenshin turned everything on its head by showing mercy, something Shishio didn't believe in.

He'd admitted then that Kenshin's victory proved Shishio wrong. He admitted it to himself, and out loud. And Kenshin, being Kenshin, denied it. The red-headed swordsman never seemed to do what Seta expected him to.

Kenshin said that just because he'd won their battle didn't mean he was right. He'd told Seta that he'd have to find his own answers. Seta had tried to do that by following Kenshin's example and wandering, living a virtuous life.

Yet still he couldn't seem to get the hang of it.

Two servants passed by his room. By the sound of it, one was carrying a basin of water, which sloshed about, forcing them to walk slowly.

As they walked, they whispered together. Seta's hearing was sharp. He heard every word.

"What shall we do? Master Muneiwa doesn't look well at all." It was a servant girl, too old really to be called a girl, but her voice was younger sounding than the other woman's voice, which answered.

"Shh! If anyone asks, we're to say that the Master has the flu." Though quiet, the older woman's tone was worried.

"But his face! The one side is all slack, and he can't move that arm either."

"It's the flu. Just remember that."

Their footsteps stopped abruptly as they were joined by a rushing pair of footsteps.

"We're nearly out of sake." The new voice was higher and shrill with agitation.

"Why tell us?" the older woman's voice asked reasonably.

"Just go and get some more from the storage area," the younger woman suggested.

"But there isn't any more in the storage area! The rain kept Miyagi from making his delivery..." The shrill voice broke off as another set of footsteps padded softly towards them.

Seta realized that the new footsteps sounded familiar. No, not the footsteps, the clinking noise that accompanied them. So Chizuru hadn't found a way to discard her pebbles yet.

"Chizuru-san!" The shrill voice rounded on her. "We're out of sake, what are we to do? Where will we get more with the bridge washed out?"

"Why do you ask me this? Grandfather makes those decisions." The girl's voice was low, hesitant.

"Yes, but your grandfather can't answer my questions he…"

"Has the flu!" interrupted the older woman's voice.

Seta could hear the irritation in the old woman's words, and could imagine her glaring at the tactless shrill-voiced serving woman.

Chizuru sighed. "I don't know what to…." she sighed again as her words trailed off. "I'll go look for some more sake," she said desultorily, and her footsteps faded as she walked off.

"Fool!" hissed the younger woman. "How can you bother her now when she's been…you know."

The shrill voice harrumphed. "Who else can I bother with the steward dying last month, Master Uriu dead, and Master Muneiwa sick with the FLU?" she ended loudly, over-emphasizing the last word for effect.

Evidently not pleased with the reaction she was getting from the other two servants, she harrumphed again and stalked off, her feet pounding defiantly on the wood floorboards as she went.

"A house needs a strong master, or it can not stand," muttered the older woman.

"Especially with fools like Tomi about," agreed the other.

Then their footsteps faded as well, and Seta was left with his thoughts and the uncommunicative samurai who sat like a rock, guarding him.

Later that night, Shimizu came to take the late evening shift.

Sitting up, Seta smiled and greeted him.

Shimizu nodded curtly.

Ah. So he still hadn't forgiven him for touching Chizuru. What a pity. Shimizu was the only samurai who'd bothered to talk with him.

What small strides he'd taken to win Shimizu's confidence disappeared after the incident in the garden. Shimizu had even taken Seta's sword back when a new samurai came to take over guard duty.

However, Seta noticed as Shimizu came in that the Nagasone Kotetsu was thrust through Shimizu's obi along with Shimizu's own sword. Shimizu took them out and laid them on his left side as he sat.

The message wasn't lost on Seta. He'd gone back to being distrusted. There'd be no more walks in the garden for him.

Sighing, he wished Shimizu a polite 'goodnight' and lay back down to sleep.

Stealthy noises in the garden woke Seta.

The rain was a mere drizzle again, and he heard the rasp of wood on stone. Someone with a sheathed katana was climbing over the back wall of the garden.

Seta thought idly that someone should tell him to tuck his katana in the back of the obi when scaling a wall.

He lay face upward on the floor and continued to listen. There were at least five of them, trying to be quiet as they landed in the damp earth of the garden, but the dirt was sodden and the unmistakable squelshing noises they made when they landed couldn't be masked. In the cold night air, the sound carried distinctly over the pond.

Curious, Seta sat up and opened his eyes and saw that Shimizu was on his knees at the shoji screen which separated Seta's room from the engawa leading to the garden. In his left hand he grasped his katana by its sheath. Seta's sword was tucked in Shimizu's obi.

Shimizu glanced at Seta, who held his gaze calmly.

Another intruder landed in the garden. That made six.

From what Seta had seen and heard since his capture, the daimyo only had five samurai at his disposal. Most daimyo had more, and Seta supposed that many of Muneiwa's men had been killed during the Bakumatsu over ten years ago.

Of the five remaining, Seta figured that some were probably sleeping.

"Looks like your friends are coming to get you." growled Shimizu softly.

"The bandits?" asked Seta curiously.

Shimizu nodded grimly.

This was odd. Why would the bandits attack Muneiwa's compound? "Oh, they're no friends of mine." Seta told Shimizu cheerfully. "I doubt they're coming to rescue me. Besides, even if they were I couldn't go with them."

Shimizu drew his grizzled eyebrows together and frowned.

"I promised I wouldn't try to escape, remember?" Seta laughed softly. "I'm stuck here with you!"

Shimizu tensed and he raised a hand to quiet Seta, while placing his eye against the crack between the shoji screen and the doorframe.

Listening intently, Seta heard it too, the whispered conversation between the intruders.

"Where do you think they're keeping Gombei?"

"Who cares, just kill everyone who isn't him. That'll make it easy." A second bandit answered the first with a hate-filled voice.

"Let's grab the girl again. Even if he's not here, they'll make the trade to get her back. Maybe even give us the ransom too."

"Shut up you two," hissed another voice, closer than the first two.

At the mention of Chizuru, Seta's breath caught.

Shimizu, moving back from the shoji to quietly draw his sword, caught Seta's eye.

The look that passed between the two was something only two warriors would understand. They measured each other, assessed each other's fighting spirit, and approved.

Without a word, Shimizu pulled Seta's katana, the Nagasone Kotetsu, from its place tucked into his obi, and tossed it to him.

Seta caught it, and smiled, the genuine happiness that filled him at the familiar weight in his hand surprised him. He got to his knees and joined Shimizu.

The older samurai placed his left hand on the shoji screen, and jerked his head to the left, indicating the direction Seta was to attack.

Then he threw open the shoji screen and burst out into the night with a yell that woke the household.

Dimly, from the back of the house, came another sort of cry, one of terror and pain. Seta realized, even as he burst forward, that there were more bandits than he'd thought. Another group must be attacking the other side of the house.

Then the battle was on. Shimizu was attacking a smaller man on the engawa. The old man's downward cuts were strong and sure, and the bandit was having a hard time blocking them.

Realizing it was only a matter of time before Shimizu broke through the bandit's defenses, Seta stepped out on the porch and prepared to fight his own battles.

The five other bandits were rushing to their friend's rescue in a mass. Seta bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, and ran forward.

As his feet left the porch, he drew his sword, battoujitsu style, and sliced one of the bandits in half as he plunged into the garden. Whirling, his bare feet skidded in the mud and he had to windmill his arms for a moment to catch his balance.

Another bandit foolishly tried to cut him with a downward stroke.

Seta raised his Nagasone Kotetsu above his head in a downward diagonal slant. The bandit's blade struck it mid-center.

By shifting his blade slightly, Seta used the bandit's forward momentum to force the man's blade to slide down his own.

As soon as the man's point of balance was focused down his blade, which was now imbedded in the ground, Seta cross-stepped left, and as his left foot touched the ground, he swung his right sword arm across horizontally, taking off the bandit's head at the neck.

By this time Shimizu had dispatched his own opponent and was crouched low, his sword held tilted down at his side, eyes watching the two bandits with drawn swords confronting him several paces down the engawa.

Seta was just looking for the last bandit when a shot rang out.

He flinched; he couldn't help himself. Gunfire always startled him.

More noise now, as Shimizu went crashing through a shoji screen several rooms down from Seta's room.

Shimizu had been hit!

Pivoting, Seta found the gunman standing by a tree with a satisfied grin on his face, his pistol still raised and smoking.

Grin, and the head attached to it, were quickly separated from the man's body by another horizontal slash from Seta's blade.

Now for the last two.

They'd followed Shimizu through the broken shoji screen.

When Seta gained the impromptu doorway, one of them had already slashed his sword downward at the fallen samurai's head.

Shimizu was half lying, half sitting on his back on the floor of a storage room, in the wreckage of the shoji screen. Incredibly, despite the gaping bullet hole in Shimizu's chest, the man had his sword up, blocking the bandit's katana.

The second bandit was just preparing to thrust his blade through Shimizu's vulnerable belly.

Seta hissed through his teeth as he tilted his blade sideways and thrust it through a gap in the bandit's ribs, feeling the impact as his blade reached the spinal cord, signifying that the heart area had been reached.

He took a step back and pulled his blade out, then lunged forward slashing, his toes stopping right at Shimizu's side as he took the last bandit's head with a horizontal stroke.

The head went flying across the room, while the body slumped off on the floor to the right, away from Shimizu.

Shimizu.

Seta tossed his katana on the floor and dropped to his knees by the dying samurai.

Shimizu's eyes were glazing over. His chest was covered in blood from the bullet wound.

Seta gently pulled the man's head onto his knees and held him resting there, copying what Yumi, Shishio's concubine, had done for him when Kenshin fought him to the breaking point, to the point where all Seta could do was lie there and wait for the end.

Kenshin hadn't finished Seta off as expected. Seta had lived, but Shimizu…

Shimizu's eyes focused on Seta, hovering over him.

"You did good, kid." Shimizu whispered, and tried to raise his hand.

Seta reached across to grasp it, but even as he did so, the hand fell lifeless at Shimizu's side.

The samurai was dead.

o-o-o

They found him sitting on the floor of the storage room a few minutes later, Shimizu's body still lying in his lap. Seta's hands, covered once again with another man's blood, were resting on the samurai's shoulders.

He looked up when Beppo, the younger samurai, ran in, household servants clustered behind him.

He saw Beppo's eyes drop to Shimizu.

"I'm afraid he's dead, Beppo-san," said Seta, and dropped his own gaze to the peaceful face of the only man in Muneiwa's household who'd treated him like a fellow warrior.

From behind Beppo, the servants' voices broke out in furious conversation.

"Shimizu's dead!"

"What?"

"Who killed him?"

Beppo stepped further into the room, allowing the servants to cluster in the doorway like a bunch of indignant hens.

Ignoring them, Beppo walked over to stand by Shimizu's feet, his eyes taking in the wound, and the man's face. Seta had used his fingertips to close Shimizu's eyes, and his bloody smudge marks remained on the lids.

Beppo resheathed his sword and kneeled.

"Why are you still here?" he asked in a flat voice.

Seta shrugged. "I'm sorry, Beppo-san. I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now, but I promised Shimizu-san that I wouldn't run away. So I guess you're stuck with me."

Though he knew it was inappropriate, Seta smiled, the defense mechanism kicking in almost unconsciously.

Beppo's eyes hardened.

There was a scraping noise as a barrel of rice began to slide across the floor.

Beppo and Seta's heads swiveled left at the same time as Chizuru stood up.

Moving awkwardly around the wooden barrel, she clutched the fabric of her sleeping Yukata at the neck and came into the center of the room.

"Chizuru-chan?" Beppo asked incredulously, using the diminutive form, commonly used with children. "You were hiding in here?"

Chizuru didn't seem to notice the question. Her eyes were on Seta. She walked forward as if there was no one else in the room but him.

"Did you really kill my brother?" she asked.

Her hair was tumbling unbound around her shoulders. Her eyes were big and pleading, framed by her heart-shaped face.

There was the question. Seta hadn't killed her brother, but he could have saved him and didn't. Just as he could have saved Shimizu if he'd been faster, if he'd thought to look for guns instead of katanas, and picked his targets accordingly.

Seta bowed his head as he thought about all that he'd done, and all that he hadn't. Then he raised his head and smiled.

"I am responsible for your brother's death, Chizuru-san. I am sorry."

Tears pooled in her eyes and began spilling down her face. She covered her face in her hands and ran at the servants in the doorway, who immediately began clucking over her, reinforcing Seta's earlier impression of them as hens. An older servant woman placed her arm around the girl's shoulders and began leading her away.

Beppo was staring at him as the servants' chatter washed over them.

"Poor dear!"

"Imagine, a battle going on in her favorite childhood hiding place."

"Do you think she saw everything? The killings?"

"Shut up, Tomi!"

"Well, I would have loved to see Shimizu killing all those bandits."

"He killed six of them, I'll wager! I counted the bodies outside before I came."

Beppo's gaze dropped from Seta's face to the swords lying scattered across the bodies and bits of shoji screens littering the floor. There were the bandits' two sword lying by their corpses. Shimizu's was properly at his side where it had fallen from his hand, and Seta's was across the room, blood still dripping from it.

Beppo focused on it, then brought his face back around and stared even harder at Seta.

Smiling back cheerfully, Seta spoke quietly. "I think it's best if Shimizu killed all the bandits, don't you? That way everybody will be happy."

A grimace of disgust crossed Beppo's face. Beppo didn't like it when Seta smiled.

He stood. "Go back to your room and stay there," he ordered.

"Certainly, Beppo-san, I'll go right now." Seta answered.

Gently supporting Shimizu's head and shoulders, Seta scooted backwards and laid the body on the floor. Then he rose to his feet and went to the doorway leading to the hallway to his room. As he passed through the doorway, he glanced back and saw Beppo staring down at his dead friend.

"Kuso, Shizuru. Why did you have to go and die? There's few enough of us left to protect Muneiwa-san as it is."

Seta lowered his head and went back to his room.

Note to Reviewers:

Loise – I promise you'll find out Soujiro's fate soon. This story only has five chapters. I'm glad you like the O.C.s – it's been challenging trying to recreate a daimyo's household in an age when the feudal system was being dismantled, and the old ways were dying off. As for parody, I've done one on 'X 1999' because its plot drove me nuts, but right now I'm liking Souiro too much to parody him!

Wyrd – Er, I hope you didn't get too attached to Shimizu! Sorry about that! Despite his bad sense of timing, he was a good samurai. Chizuru and Soujiro have a rocky relationship – it's hard for her to let herself like Soujiro while she still thinks he murdered her brother. Glad you liked the rain scene, rain is pretty meaningful for Soujiro, after all the major turning point of his life happened in the rain.

WolfDaughter – Shimuzu's actions may be unexpected, but he's an old school samurai. Honor is everything and since the symbol of a samurai's honor is his sword, and Soujiro's sword is a really cool one, I figured he'd be curious to see how honorable Soujiro actually was. Congratulations on your exams! Especially the Calc. III one – I im in awe of anyone who can figure out math problems!

Linay – You're actually reading my silly story? I'm so flattered! Soujiro is a favorite RK character of mine as well. Who can resist a guy with a tortured past trying to make things right?

Skenshingumi – Soujiro is only 5 feet 4 inches tall? Drat, that means he's taller than me. And he looks so short on the anime dvds! Thanks for the compliment on research – I spend way too much time on that when I should be doing more productive things! If you ever do decide to write a story, I'd love to review it! Until then, I'm just happy you're reading mine.

Supremecmdr.oftheweb – Thanks for the compliment, and thanks for reading.

MysteriousSamurai – Soujiro is indeed interesting, and I'm having lots of fun using him as my main character. I'm glad you liked the chapter!

Anonymous Freak – Soujiro is indeed the best! I'm having fun writing about him. I hope I'm remaining true to Watsuki's version of him.

Babygirl – No more crying? Good! Glomping Sou-chan is a much better use of your time – he's such a cutie-pie.

Another Baka – I'm glad you liked the chapter! Thanks for reading!

Applesoveroranges – If you want to own Seta Soujiro, I hear there's an owners manual on ffdotnet! Thanks for the compliment, you're too kind, but my 'talent' isn't completely natural. I was an English Major in college so I had to practice writing a lot!

Larie-chan – You're welcome! About your question, the answer is no. No romance here, never ever. I'm allergic to writing romance. Mostly because I stink at it! I agree, the muse analogy is getting a bit old. Want to switch to Baka Bokken's plot bunnies analogy instead?

Lolopopoki – One of the irritating things about writing from one character's point of view is that you can't show what's going through the other characters' minds. The reason Shimizu showed mercy by giving Soujiro back his sword is because he was testing him to see if he was honorable. Shimizu doesn't know about Soujiro's god-like speed, so he figured he'd hand back the sword and see what Soujiro did with it. He was also curious about how a mere kid got his hands on an excellent sword like the Nagasone Kotetsu. As for the ending…I'm not telling! I could email you a hint though…

Alilmatchgirl – Hi! Glad to see you're reviewing again, and I'm sorry your cnxn was acting up (what IS a cnxn anyhow?). I'm glad you like my take on Soujiro. Unlike Kenshin, he didn't wander in order to atone per se, but rather to find answers since his world view was knocked offkilter when Kenshin whupped him in battle. He's still emotionally distant as a result of his upbringing. Drat that evil Shishio! That guy needed some serious parenting classes!

Moeruhimura – About Senkaku, I REALLY didn't want to think that Soujiro killed him either. When Soujiro told him he didn't know enough to have to be killed, I was hoping he wouldn't, but then there was that awful sound of sword cutting flesh as the feathers were falling, and then the stream of blood appears in the water. After that the whole river turns red, presumably with blood, so I figured Soujiro must have killed him. On the other hand, when the river goes red, Senkaku is still sitting upright beside it, which didn't seem consistent with him being dead. I'd rather think he wasn't, but then where did all the blood come from? As for Shimizu, he's open-minded because he's older and wiser. Plus he considers himself a good judge of character, and he's testing Soujiro to see if he's honorable and trustworthy.

Sueb262 – Thanks for the review, and the email one too! It was incredibly helpful. Ah, Saitoh. If Soujiro is the ultimate in cuteness, Saitoh's got to be the ultimate in coolness. Tall, dark, handsome, and he loves soba noodles. What's not to like?


	5. Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin characters or plot.

The audience chamber was crowded when Beppo brought Seta to it.

The trial of the bandits was to be held at the daimyo's residence, in deference to his poor health. Seta thought also that Kanagawa, the head of the police, didn't think that Muneiwa would tamely hand Seta over to him, and wanted to avoid conflict.

Or perhaps he'd wanted to spare Chizuru the hassle and humiliation of traveling to town for the trial.

Kanagawa stood talking to a man in black coat, pants and top hat. They were western style clothes. Many of the unfamiliar faces in the audience chamber were dressed in western style clothing. They would be the government officials.

The daimyo sat at one end of the room, his remaining samurai seated behind him, their swords on the floor at their sides. So much for the anti-sword law. Evidently Kanagawa was picking his battles, and the sword violation was being ignored in light of the trial.

Muneiwa didn't look well at all. His face was pale and dotted with sweat, but his back was rigidly straight. He kept both arms in his lap, so Seta couldn't tell which one was useless, but he saw that the muscles on the left side of the daimyo's face had relaxed, like molten wax. He'd had a stroke, yet he was here, in his audience hall, waiting to see the men who'd killed his grandson tried and sentenced. You had to admire that kind of determination.

Beppo paused at the doorway, ignoring the blue clad policemen and the men in black suits, waiting for Muneiwa to acknowledge him and his prisoner.

Seta took the opportunity to allow his gaze to wander further around the room. To his left a group of officials sat on the floor behind a row of low, square writing desks. It seemed the daimyo hadn't provided them with western style furniture to match their western style clothing.

They were lucky the daimyo hadn't insisted on an old style trial out on the porch with the prisoners forced to kneel, bound with ropes, on the white sand in front of him while he heard the evidence and rendered judgment. In the days before the Meiji era, the daimyo himself could have played magistrate.

But this was the Meiji era now, and the daimyo had to share his dais with a black-garbed judge who sat next to him with an air of grave dignity, watching the impromptu courtroom settle down.

Against the wall of the doorway where Beppo and Seta were standing, the household servants were sitting wide-eyed, intimidated by the sheer number of strangers who'd taken over the audience chamber.

To Seta's right were the prisoners, flanked on either side and behind by grim faced policemen who stood staring down at them.

Gombei, the bandit leader who'd tried to spit at Kanagawa and bragged that he'd violated Chizuru, was seated in the middle of the group of prisoners. He was still dressed in his dirty brown hakama and gi, with the same hateful expression on his face. There were three other bandits with him that Seta didn't recognize, but the last one, sitting on Gombei's left, was the stocky man with the scarred forehead who'd charged at Seta on the road.

A black and blue mottled stain still graced his chin where Seta had knocked the man out by an upper cut with his fuchi, the flat metal tip that capped his sword's hilt. The bruise matched the bandit's dark blue gi and black hakama rather nicely.

Beppo at last caught the daimyo's eye and received a nod. He pushed Seta forward with the flat of his hand to Seta's back.

Seta moved as gracefully as possible after being shoved into the room and walked up to the group of prisoners.

The guards closest to the door fell back as he and Seta approached. Seta saw the black and blue-garbed bandit glance up at him, and do a classic double take. The man stared as Seta smiled politely at the policemen, then dropped to a seated position on the floor next to him.

He kept staring as his hand came up absentmindedly to finger the bruise under his chin. Dropping his hand, he unobtrusively used his elbow to poke the bandit leader in the side.

Gombei's eyes narrowed as he glanced around and saw Seta sitting with the group of prisoners. Seta smiled at him and wiggled the fingers of his right hand in a wave.

Then Gombei stared at the floor in concentration as the black and blue bandit whispered softly and urgently in his ear the story of how he'd met Seta.

Since Seta already knew the end of that story, he tuned it out and concentrated on the scene in front of him.

He knew the end of his own story as well. This was a western style trial, with western style justice, but Japan still had a death penalty.

The audience chamber quieted as a man standing next to the judge called it to order.

Much of what came next was surprisingly dull. One of the officials in western clothes took on the role as prosecutor.

He called up two household servants as witnesses who said they saw the bandits capture Chizuru as they escorted her back from visiting a friend in town. The servants admitted that they'd run away and hid in the forest while Chizuru had tripped and been grabbed by the bandits.

The bandit leader, Gombei, was identified as the one who'd pulled her onto his horse and rode away.

The prosecutor next called Kanagawa to stand before the judge and testify. Kanagawa verified that he'd been leading the police patrol that ran into the bandits. They'd shot at them, causing their horses to stampede. Gombei and Chizuru had been thrown off when Gombei's horse bucked and kicked the horse next to it, causing it to dump its rider in the dirt as well. The other two bandits had jumped off their horses and drawn their swords to try to protect their leader, Gombei, but had quickly surrendered when they realized the police all had guns pointed at them.

Kanagawa said that the last prisoner had been found lying unconscious across the back of a horse further down the road.

Seta's ears perked up at that. So the taller samurai with the lame horse was still missing? He was probably long gone by now. He hadn't seemed to have much loyalty to his fellow bandits. Seta glanced at the black and blue bandit at his side, and wondered if the man's stomach hurt where the tall bandit had slung him roughly over the horse's saddle.

The prosecutor asked if the police had found the last of the bandits.

Kanagawa frowned. "We believe the last of the bandits were killed when they attempted to attack this house three days ago."

Seta happened to be glancing over at his fellow prisoners when Kanagawa said it, so he had a perfect view of Gombei starting, eyes bulging with fury. Ah. So the loss of his bandits was news to him.

Various expressions crossed the man's face. Shock, angry disbelief, then a sullen festering resentment. When the bandit at Seta's right tried to whisper some commiserating remark to him, Gombei snarled at him. Gombei, reflected Seta, was not a pleasant man.

Seta looked back at the far end of the audience chamber and saw that Muneiwa's eyes were shining triumphantly in his pale, sickly face. It was the first emotion Seta had seen from the man. He had a strong will, though his body was weak.

Beppo, on the other hand, was staring at Seta with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. Seta smiled back with what he hoped was a reassuring sort of grin. Did Beppo think he was going to jump up and claim responsibility for killing the bandits and destroying the illusion that Shimizu had done it? What would be the point in that?

"I call Chizuru Muneiwa to testify."

The prosecutor's words set up a rustling murmur among the servants along the wall.

All eyes were on the doorway as Chizuru, dressed in a light pink kimono with a pale peach butterfly pattern at the edge of the skirt and sleeves, stepped timidly into the room. Her neck was tilted so that it looked like her gaze was on the ground, but Seta saw that she was actually glancing around the room under cover of her bangs.

She stepped past him, pausing just an instant as her gaze met his. He smiled reassuringly at her and she walked on, stopping to stand in front of her grandfather and the judge.

She peeked another look at Seta, then stared back at the floor. He saw that she was trembling. She really didn't like to be looked at.

"Miss Muneiwa, were you kidnapped a week ago on the road to your home?" asked the prosecutor.

"Yes." Chizuru's voice was very soft, but audible.

"Were you taken by force and…"

The prosecutor, a smooth skinned man with a thick moustache and piercing black eyes, faltered.

Two sets of furious eyes, the daimyo's and the judge's, were fixed on him.

"…and carried off?" he ended, correcting what he'd been meaning to say.

Seta realized that the daimyo and the judge struck a deal, protecting Chizuru from having to testify that she'd been raped. He had to sigh at that. By protecting his granddaughter from what he saw as a public humiliation, he also denied her the chance to tell the truth about what happened.

Muneiwa and the judge both relaxed.

"Yes."

"Did you see the faces of the men who kidnapped you?"

"Yes."

"Could you identify them for us, please?"

Chizuru lifted her head a little and stared uncomprehendingly at the prosecutor. "What?"

The prosecutor bit back his impatience and spoke slowly. "We need you to identify the men who took you."

Chizuru shot a panicked glance at the bandits, then looked quickly back at the prosecutor, who continued more gently. "Will you please point to anyone in this room who was with the group of men who kidnapped you on your way home?"

She nodded shakily. Turning jerkily to her right, Chizuru faced the prisoners. With an obvious effort, she raised her arm from her side and pointed at the prisoner on the far left.

"Him."

Her finger moved to the next man. "Him." And the next. "Him."

When she pointed at Gombei, her hand began shaking, and she barely got the word out. "H..h…him."

Gombei bared his teeth at her in a smile that had more in common with a dog's snarl than an expression of happiness.

Chizuru shuddered. Seta remembered that she told him one of the bandits had ripped her kimono and touched her. The leader. Gombei.

She quickly glanced away from Gombei and raised her hand to point directly at the black and blue-garbed bandit next to Seta. "He was there too," she whispered softly.

Seta waited, as did the rest of the room, for her to point to him as well, naming him as one of the bandits.

He'd told her he was responsible for her brother's death. It was the perfect opportunity for her to punish him and avenge Uriu's death.

She left her hand pointing at the bandit, and it began to shake again.

Then her arm dropped back at her side and she turned to face her grandfather once again.

Seta blinked.

The prosecutor's jaw dropped for a second, then he closed his mouth with a snap and glanced at Kanagawa, who merely shrugged in response.

"Miss Muneiwa," he began impatiently. "What about the last one?"

"He wasn't there." Chizuru stared at the space directly between the judge and her grandfather, refusing to look at either of them.

"Excuse me? Are you saying that this young man was NOT one of the bandits who kidnapped you?"

Chizuru swallowed. Seta could see her throat move, watched her clench her fists and straighten her backbone. For a girl who hated to be looked at, this had to be torture for her. So why was she doing it? It would be far easier to do what was expected and pretend Seta was one of the bandits, but she didn't.

"Seta Soujiro did not kidnap me. What's more, he killed the bandits who attacked Shimizu-san. I was there. I saw it."

Seta's eyes drifted to Beppo, who sat near the daimyo. He shrugged apologetically. Beppo leaned over and whispered something in a low voice to the daimyo.

Muneiwa turned his ruined face at Seta and stared as the prosecutor sputtered in surprise.

There was a question in the old daimyo's eyes. His body may have betrayed him, but his heart, and his fighting spirit, were still strong. He wanted to know the truth.

Sighing inwardly, Seta allowed his smile to fade and nodded gravely at the old man.

Muneiwa closed his eyes, acknowledging the information, then opened them and looked at Beppo, raising his right index finger as a signal to quiet him. Beppo subsided immediately, and cast his eyes on the tatami mat at his feet.

The prosecutor continued to sputter. "Your honor, this is most surprising. No one spoke to me of this!" He sounded indignant at the oversight. "Why, if this is true then this young man has been falsely imprisoned!"

Seta was aware that Gombei hadn't stopped snarling, or listening to the words spoken in the audience hall, but he was surprised nonetheless when the bandit leader shot to his feet and pointed his finger at Chizuru, copying the gesture she'd used to identify him.

"She's lying to protect him! He's one of us."

Gombei glared triumphantly at Seta, then nearly fell over as the bandit next to him scrambled to his feet as well.

"You're the one who's lying, Gombei! That kid isn't one of us, and you know it!"

Seta blinked. He leaned back a little to gaze at the expanse of black hakama fabric and blue gi adorning the bandit next to him. He couldn't see the man's face, but his body language, the rigid back and tense neck muscles, radiated an anger that matched Gombei's.

Gombei rounded on his comrade. "Shut up! What do you care if he lives or dies?"

"It isn't right!"

Seta glanced around the room. The prosecutor had been struck dumb by surprise, and was watching the heated exchange open-mouthed. Even the policemen guarding the prisoners had stepped back and were listening avidly.

"It just isn't right!" repeated the bandit next to Seta. "We were samurai once. Well, not you, you were always a CRIMINAL." he spat the word at Gombei. "We were proud, we had honor before the Meiji government took away our stipends and our purpose and left us to starve."

"Hah!" Gombei interrupted him. "Would you go on clinging to your faded glory days like these fools? You want to cling to honor? Honor doesn't exist anymore. Better to take what the world owes us. Take what we can, take it all. Who can stop us?"

Was this the spirit of the new Japan? Was Gombei's unabashed greed how the world was to be from now on without the honor code of the samurai to restrain it?

"We can."

Kanagawa moved quickly for a policeman. Not as quickly as Seta, but very fast for a man of his age. As he spoke the words, Kanagawa came up behind Gombei and kicked him smartly on the back of his knee.

Gombei went sprawling, howling in pain, and grabbed his injured leg.

Kanawaga's gaze turned to the black and blue bandit still standing. The bandit wisely closed his mouth and sat back down unassisted.

Another policeman grabbed Gombei by the collar and hauled him back to a seated position as well.

The trial ended quickly after that. With Chizuru's positive identification, and the bandit leader's own damning words, the judge had little option but to declare the bandits guilty.

While the sentences were being deliberated, Seta managed to whisper to the bandit next to him.

"Thank you for telling the truth."

The black and blue bandit gave a crooked grin. "It was the least I could do. You saved my life, after all. You could have killed me, but instead…" He fingered his chin, touching the black and blue mark gingerly.

"Sorry about that," Seta nodded at the bruise. "If you don't mind my asking, what is your name?"

"Seppo Ijuin"

"I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Thanks." Ijuin's mouth quirked in an ironic little grimace.

Ijuin and the other bandits were sentenced to hard labor. Gombei was given the death penalty. Seta realized by the careful way the judge and Muneiwa did not look at each other, that this particular sentence had been pre-arranged. Gombei was the leader. He'd planned to kidnap, violate, and sell back the granddaughter of a daimyo. Such things were not tolerated, even in the new Japan where everyone, every victim, was supposed to be equal.

Gombei, of course, resisted and it took most of the police to pull his screaming, writhing body out of the room.

Seta stood next to Ijuin and watched him go.

"Ijuin-san, there's something I don't understand."

"What?" Ijuin took his eyes off Gombei and looked at Seta.

"Well, if you're a samurai, and samurai believe in honor, how could you go along with the plan to kidnap Chizuru-san?"

Ijuin's mouth quirked. "What plan? That idiot Gombei saw her walking down the road, realized she was rich by her clothes, and took her for ransom. It's not like he consulted us or anything. He was the criminal. We were just the hired help," he ended bitterly.

Gombei grabbed hold of the doorframe and the police had to peel his fingers off one at a time to get him loose.

Ijuin watched dispassionately. "He treated us worse than my last daimyo ever did. I should have stayed in my old Han and starved rather than come to this. It would have been more honorable."

"I don't think dying for honor is a good thing to do." Seta told him thoughtfully. "I think living honorably is better. How can you change anything if you're dead?"

Ijuin looked at him sharply. "You're an interesting kid. Where did you come up with that idea?"

Seta smiled. "Someone once told me I had to live on, and find my own answers. I think that was one of them."

Then the police came and led Ijuin and the other bandits away.

The room cleared. The daimyo waited until the judge and the outsiders were gone before allowing the household servants to lift him to his feet. His left leg seemed to have been affected by the stroke as well, for he leaned heavily on a manservant as he walked painstakingly out of the room, his samurai following. Beppo looked back once at Seta, who'd moved to stand by the wall to be out of the way.

Seta couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a hint of grudging approval in the samurai's eyes, then Beppo turned his head and followed the others out of the room.

At last only Seta and one other person were left in the room. Chizuru had gone over by the officials to sit after her testimony was over. She'd stayed there quiet, unobtrusive, forgotten by everyone in the wake of Gombei's outburst.

Everyone but Seta.

He stood where Ijuin left him. Smiling, he watched her stand, and waited as she walked slowly towards him. She stopped about two feet away, looking down at her hands.

"Chizuru-san, why didn't you tell the court I was with the bandits?" he asked, curious.

Chizuru was silent a moment, then she drew a breath, and looked him in the face. "I don't think you really killed my brother. You let everyone think Shimizu killed those bandits to protect his reputation. Why?" She stumbled, her voice thickening with emotion. "Why did you let me believe you killed Uriu?"

Seta shifted into a rueful sort of smile. "I just can't get anything past you, can I? The truth is, your brother asked me for help and I refused him. He went after the bandits alone and was killed. So you see, it's my fault he's dead."

Chizuru began shaking her head in distress even before he finished speaking. "You're wrong! It's my fault. If I hadn't let myself get caught…"

"Did you want to get caught?" asked Seta interestedly.

"Well, no, but…"

"Didn't you try to run away?" That was a question Seta already knew the answer to, having heard the servants' testimony.

"Well, yes."

"Then you didn't let yourself get caught at all. So it can't be your fault, which means it's my fault. Not doing what you know is right is just as bad as doing what is wrong."

Seta let the words ring with finality in the audience hall. The girl bit her lip, unable to come up with a good rebuttal.

He smiled again and turned to go. "Well, I'd better be on my way now."

"Wait!"

To his surprise, he felt her hand touch his shoulder. He froze, not sure what to do about it. The last time a woman touched him was when Yumi let his head rest in her lap after his battle with Kenshin. Before that he'd only been touched by the females in his family, and they only touched him when striking him.

Chizuru's voice came out muffled as he felt her forehead touch his shoulder blade. "Please don't go."

Seta let the smile drift away from his mouth. "Why would you want me to stay?"

"I need help. Grandfather is very ill. The doctor said he may live years longer, but he'll never recover the use of his arm or face. That means I'm in charge. I don't know how to be in charge! I don't know about this new Meiji era. Grandfather didn't like talking about it. We don't have much money left. I don't think Grandfather has paid the samurai or the servants in months. How can we survive? Please. You've traveled beyond this Han. You must know more about the world than I do. Please stay and help me."

"You're asking me for…help?"

Seta felt his eyes go wide. Usually he had to go begging for jobs. He'd never had a job come begging for him before.

He shuddered a little when he remembered the last time he'd asked anyone for help. He'd run through the rain, screaming it.

No one had answered.

He came to believe no one ever helped anyone. Yet here was Chizuru asking him for help.

He turned back around, causing her hand to fall off his shoulder. Her head was down and he saw that teardrops were falling on the floor by her feet.

Taking his fingertips and placing them under her chin, he gently lifted it so he could look in her eyes.

"You're crying," he told her.

She sniffed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. To be able to cry when you want to…it's a gift."

She sniffed again and searched his eyes with her own. "You're not really going to leave me, are you?"

Seta hesitated, thinking of the servants and the remaining samurai. They all loved her and wanted to protect her the way they protected her grandfather. However, they also saw her as something which had been broken. Only he knew the truth.

While he hesitated, a determined look came into her eyes. "Didn't you just say that not doing what is right is as…"

"…bad as doing what is wrong." Seta finished the words with her and laughed.

"You're too clever for me, Chizuru-san. It looks like I'll just have to stay and help you now," he conceded cheerfully. "But if I'm going to stay here, you have to promise me one thing."

"Promise…?"

"To call me Soujiro."

A light grew in her eyes as she nodded, a gladness that he saw and envied. Perhaps if he stayed with her long enough, it would rub off on him. He thought of Hoji, who took care of Shishio's business affairs, the financial side of his plot to build a new Japan. Surely the principles Hoji talked about could apply to one daimyo's land.

And after all, Seta had grown up in the home of a wholesale rice merchant. Even an abused servant couldn't help but overhear the business deals being struck in the house. How hard could it be to get Chizuru's lands solvent?

Chizuru practically glowed with happiness. To be honest, helping her get her lands in order wasn't the only reason he was staying.

She could still cry. Seta admired that.

Shishio saw crying as a weakness.

The strong lived, the weak died. That's what he always said.

Not this time.

This time Seta would use his strength to protect the weak. He would protect Chizuru with his sword, but more importantly, with his mind and his hard work.

'Thank you, Kenshin,' thought Seta. 'I have found my answers. This is my truth.'

THE END

Note to Reviewers:

Yokohama – So you agree Senkaku was killed? I thought so, all that blood in the water is pretty hard to explain away. As for the romance, I'm physically capable of moving my fingers on the keyboard to type it in, but I'd probably die of embarrassment if I ever tried. I still blush when stories get all lemony!

Wyrd – Sorry to kill off Shimizu (Shunme too in "The Choshu Chronicles") but I had to for the sake of the story, and authenticity. In the late 1800s the medical profession wasn't up to fixing gunshot wounds to the chest. Chizuru does indeed have a lousy sense of timing, though her instincts about Soujiro are pretty good.

Applesoveroranges – Someday you've got to tell me the story behind your pen-name! Sorry Kenshin won't be a part of this story. It's the last chapter, and I couldn't fit him in. Perhaps I'll put him in the next one.

Wolfdaughter – Goodness, I never get tired of hearing how readers like my story. Go ahead with the compliments, repetition is welcome and I don't mind at all reading the same thing over and over, especially if it's as nice as your reviews! By the way, I read in another author's review responses that you had a birthday. Happy belated birthday!

Linay – I knew I'd catch a lot of flack for bumping off Shimizu, but I'm happy you liked chapter four anyway!

Loise – I hope you liked the ending! I tried to wake Soujiro to both the real world and to the fact that he can be needed and have a role in life that doesn't involve killing. Thanks so much for the compliments on the last chapter!

Alilmatchgirl – Thanks for explaining 'cnxn'! I though it was an acronym and I was racking my brain to try to figure out what the 'x' could stand for! Hope you liked the last chapter!

Skenshingumi – Perceptive review last time! I tried to make it seem like Soujiro was trying to do what he thought was the right thing to do, not so much because he's wracked with guilt, but because it seems like the right/Kenshinesque thing to do. He's being honest in his own weird way, but in this chapter Chizuru turns the tables on him.

Sueb262 – I didn't know that about closing eyes, I guess real life is a great deal less cooperative than fiction. I'd read somewhere that the romans used to put coins on the eyes, so I should have realized that it takes more than a touch to keep them closed. Soujiro is still pretty detached, the difference is that now he knows that it's not good to be that way, and he really wants to change (of course taking responsibility for something he didn't do because he felt like he ought to have done more is a rather excessive way to try to do that!).

Lolopopoki – Sorry for bumping off Shimizu! I liked him too. I hope you enjoyed the last chapter – that courtroom scene gave me hives! I still don't know if Japan really had the death penalty, though Saitoh mentioned that they did in one of the episodes.

Potato-sensei – Thanks for the information about Soujiro's age! You're so sweet to say that my stories are good! I like your name, by the way!

Moeruhimura – Yep, Soujiro has a ways to go before he can hold strictly to a no-killing oath like Kenshin did. He spared the bandits on the road because they were only threatening him at the time, but a mass attack on the household, and the example of Shimizu (who, like most samurai, are trained to fight to defend their daimyo to the death)…I figured it was plausible that Soujiro would resort to killing in the last chapter. I'm helpful to other writers? Really? I try, but I've only just emailed some research here and there, so I can't really claim to be all that helpful! Still, it was a sweet thing to say! As for the swords, you were right about the kiku Ichimonji getting destroyed in the second fight. Kenshin actually snapped the blade in half, and the tip went sailing across the room to imbed itself in the tatami mat – so I doubt that one could be fixed. The Nagasone Kotetsu, on the other hand, was just cracked along the hasaki (the sharp edge). Katanas are actually made of two pieces of metal – the interior shingane, and the exterior hadagane that wraps around it in the forging process. For the purpose of the story, I'm pretending that the shingane was intact and a new hadagane could be wrapped around it and sealed to it. Whether or not that could actually happen in real life is debatable! I wasn't able to find a website on Japanese metallurgy that addressed that question, though I found a great book on katanas called 'The Connoisseur's Book of Japanese Swords'.

Keirin-Sama – You got it! Here's the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy it!

Another Baka – Shivering? Cool! I didn't know my writing could cause shivers! Er, was that a bad shiver or a good shiver?

SailorEarth13 – I definitely agree that Soujiro didn't have the right teacher while growing up! It's tough for him to try to figure out morality and honor when Shishio had none. I hope you like the ending. I had fun allowing Chizuru to best him in an argument, though I'm not really satisfied with the last line. Switching to a thought/dialogue directed to Kenshin seemed awkward, but I liked it so I left it in.

Conspirator – Oh yes, I'd definitely grab Soujiro by the shoulders and tell him to stop being legalistic (right after I gave him a big hug and told him he's allowed to be happy since it's not his fault he was brainwashed by an insane social Darwinist) I've made Soujiro annoyingly self-sacrificing and legalistic about who owns the responsibility for Uriu's death. He is, after all, taking Kenshin as his model of morality, and we all know how irritatingly selfless he can be! Will that man ever just forgive himself and move on? Thanks for saying my story is great! You're making me blush!

Ayumu-in-Blue – Sorry about killing off Shimizu! However, dying for your daimyo was considered the highest honor for a samurai, so we can assume he died happy. I hope you like the last chapter!


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